For Colleen's Sake
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: Sam leaps into a teenager and finds himself squaring off against the local high school's most popular jock, who proves to be a bigger threat than Sam or Al thought.
1. Act I

A/N: Sam and Al and all the folks at Project Quantum Leap are the creation of Donald Bellisario and company. However, all the teenagers (obnoxious and otherwise) are the products of my imagination and a few really nasty memories from my godawful high-school years. (Little wonder Sam's not thrilled to be a high-school student again - that's probably how most of us would feel!)  
  
****************************************** ACT I  
  
Even before the blue light cleared, Sam felt himself being jolted and jostled from all sides. As usual, the light left an odd-colored afterimage on his retinas and he had to blink it away before he could see properly. Just when he'd regained his vision, someone collided heavily with him from the back and he stumbled forward a few steps. "C'mon, Becker, what're you waiting for?" a voice demanded.  
  
"It's Beckett," Sam said before he could stop himself.  
  
"Huh?" the voice responded. Sam focused on the other person: a good- looking, muscle-bound teenage boy with a pale-blond crew cut and equally pale blue eyes. "We gotta get our asses down to Sampson's room before she catches us screwin' around. Haul ass, willya?"  
  
"Oh, sure," Sam muttered. His conviction that he wasn't going to like it when he found out his location was increasing exponentially. The crew cut jogged away down the hall, and for the first time Sam realized he was holding a stack of books. Textbooks, to be exact. The top one was entitled "Adventures in Calculus", and underneath that one rested "A Comprehensive History of the United States."  
  
The grating sound characteristic of a heavy stone door on the rise assaulted his ears just then. "Sa-aamm," a familiar gravelly voice called in a warning singsong. "You better haul ass or you're gonna be late for class."  
  
Sam spun around and regarded his best friend, Admiral Al Calavicci. Al, of course, was only a hologram in Sam's current reality, which was a blessing on some occasions and a curse on others. Already at least half a dozen kids had walked right through him. "I don't even know where to go," Sam protested. A group of girls walking past him stared at him in surprise, and he smiled foolishly in their direction. He was taken aback when they all beamed at him and then fled down the hallway, giggling and whispering madly amongst themselves.  
  
"Guess what." Al smirked and proceeded to confirm Sam's worst fear. "You're back in high school, buddy."  
  
Sam rolled his eyes in supplication. "Oh, boy," he groaned. "Just what I always wanted - to relive high school." He grimaced, fended off some more peculiar looks with another smile (which produced the same baffling response of what appeared to be either adoration or hero worship) and cleared his throat. "Help me," he muttered and started off down the hall in the direction the crew cut had gone.  
  
"Never fear," Al said, "I'll get you to your calculus lesson. Just smile at everybody you meet and you can get away with anything. I'll fill you in on the way."  
  
Sam took in his surroundings as he ambled along. The school looked surprisingly well cared for, with attractive landscaping and clutter-free walkways. Either the custodians were very diligent, or this school was part of a wealthy district. "Nice place," he commented. At the usual collection of funny looks he got, he remembered Al's advice and smiled vacuously. Out of the side of his mouth he asked Al, "How come everybody grins back at me like that? What am I, a movie star?"  
  
"Close," Al said, producing the ever-present handlink to Ziggy from a pocket of his magenta crushed-velvet smoking jacket. "Actually, you're a football star at Maple Crossing High School, located in the rich-'n'-snobby bedroom community of Maple Crossing, New York. You're a senior this year, which by the way is 1984, and your name's Nick Becker."  
  
"Becker," repeated Sam in an undertone, trying to keep from attracting any more undue notice. "Someone called me that and I thought he was mispronouncing 'Beckett.' Okay, what else do I need to know?"  
  
"For one thing," Al said, "your calculus class is right here. Go in that door with the number 28 above it, and take plenty of notes so old Nicky doesn't fail the class. If you're here long enough you could save his bacon in this course and he'd graduate on time."  
  
"Is that what I have to do in order to Leap?" Sam asked, doubting it. It was much too simple.  
  
"Doesn't seem so," Al said, giving the handlink a knock on the side and making it squeal in protest. "But it'd be a nice bonus for the kid. Go on, before the bell rings."  
  
"Where'll you be?" Sam asked, loath to let the hologram go before he got the full story.  
  
"I'll be back," Al promised. "You just listen to the teacher and take notes, Sammy boy. Don't wanna flunk out, now, do ya?" He smirked again. Behind him, a block of white light seemed to sprout from the floor, accompanied by the grating-stone noise, and Al stepped backwards into the light. Down went the door to the Imaging Chamber, and CLANNNNNNGG went the bell. Sam barreled into classroom 28 just before the resident teacher closed the door.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"To be more specific," Al said, "it's Tuesday, October 23rd, 1984, and Nick is a fullback on the school team. Very talented kid, actually. The team's lost only two games this season so far, largely due to Nick and the star quarterback, one McCord Ericson. Matter of fact, he and Nick are best buds."  
  
"How'd he get a name like McCord?" asked Sam, heading for the school football field with Al at his side. School had just let out for the day, and Sam had tarried in the hall outside the calculus classroom till Al had seen fit to return. By then most of the students had cleared out, so now Sam could walk to the field with Al and talk all he needed to without attracting odd looks.  
  
"Mother's maiden name," Al replied. "Most of the time he just goes by 'Cord'; it's easier to say. Anyway, Cord is the ringleader of the gang of pals that Nick belongs to. Most of the guys are on the football team, but there are a few fringe types who didn't quite make the cut and are trying to gain some popularity off Cord's coattails. But Nick's one of the lucky ones - as I said, he's Cord's best friend, and there're maybe five or six other guys they hang out with, plus the three or four hangers-on. Cheerleaders for girlfriends, football every Friday night, dates every Saturday night, parties at somebody's house, you know the drill." Al paused and stared at Sam, then corrected himself. "No you don't."  
  
Sam gave him the requisite dirty look. "Okay, fine, we've established who Nick is, what he does and who his friends are, as well as his place in the social hierarchy. But we still don't know why I'm here."  
  
"Ziggy's still looking for that," Al grumbled. "I can't understand for the life of me how come she always has to lollygag around when it comes to establishing your purpose on a Leap. She had enough info this time that I figured she'd tell us right away." He whacked the handlink again, and it responded with an indignant electronic wail. "Right now, she's not sayin' squat. Tell you what, you go to practice, and I'll bug Ziggy."  
  
"You do that," mumbled Sam, processing the information Al had given him while Al vanished back into the Imaging Chamber. So Nick Becker was a football player, and a very popular one at that. Out of nowhere Sam had a fleeting recollection of another muscle-bound jock type he'd once inhabited. Some guy named Kip . . . Kurt . . . no, Knut. That was it, Knut. Knut had been a particularly dumb jock with a reputation as a womanizer and prankster - quite the opposite of Sam, who as Al had stated during that Leap had been a "meganerd." Inhabiting Knut Wileton, the college frat boy, had been quite the experience, but Sam was sure it hadn't prepared him for high-school jockdom by a long shot. Heck, he didn't even like football all that much, judging from what little he knew about it. Basketball had always been his thing.  
  
As a result, Sam found himself botching up everything in practice that afternoon, until at last the coach called him aside. "Becker, what's the matter with you?" he asked. "Got a problem?"  
  
Sam, who by now had collected some fairly spectacular bruises from his teammates, wasn't lying when he said, "I'm not feeling too well, coach." He shifted uneasily on the bench and winced when his ribs protested. Those clowns out there seemed to have deliberately hit him in all the most vulnerable places.  
  
The coach nodded. "Okay, then, you can sit this one out, but make sure you're back in shape tomorrow. We're playing Alderton Friday and they're tough, so we need all our best players in top condition."  
  
Sam nodded and relaxed, grateful for the reprieve (however temporary). His respite didn't last long; the coach suggested the team as a whole take five, and within a minute Sam was surrounded by a bunch of guys who could only be Nick's friends. They started right in on him. "Just because we tapped you in the side a couple times, you're lettin' Coach bench you?" demanded one of them incredulously. "You must be gettin' soft, Becker."  
  
So far, Sam thought, he had yet to be called "Nick." He almost preferred the use of "Becker", since it was so close to his own surname that he always thought someone was calling him for real and thus automatically answered every hail. "Couple of tender spots, yeah."  
  
"Sissy," jeered one of the other boys.  
  
The first player whipped off his helmet and glared; Sam saw that it was the pale-blond crew cut whom he'd encountered when he first Leaped in. "Bag it, Mason, or you're out." This vague threat did its work and the other boy subsided. "Little butt-kisser. Wait'll we put him through the initiation, then he won't be so quick to shoot off his mouth."  
  
"Initiation?" echoed Sam suspiciously. He had never yet heard that word without its being attached to something profoundly negative, and under the current circumstances he was sure this would not be an exception.  
  
"Did somebody kick you in the head? We've been planning this for weeks. Mason's initiation is tonight at the water tower." The player leaned forward enough for Sam to read the name emblazoned on the back of his football jersey: Ericson. So this must be Cord Ericson, BMOC. "Look, long as we're all here, I'm takin' a head count. I wanna make sure once and for all that I know who's gonna be there. Burton? Hall? Sbraccia? Norton? Woodling? Gaines?" Each time he called a name, a voice responded with a "yeah." Cord Ericson then shifted his gaze to three other boys hovering nearby, in the group and yet not in the group. The one in the middle was pale and his forehead shone with sweat; Sam guessed he must be Mason. Cord said to him, "Okay, we're all gonna be there. Make sure you are."  
  
"What about Becker?" asked the boy addressed as Woodling.  
  
Cord rolled his eyes. "What're you, stupid? I can depend on Becker - I don't even have to ask him. I KNOW he'll be there." Which statement made Sam wonder, not so much about the nature of Nick Becker's friends, but about Nick himself. 


	2. Act II

ACT II  
  
Nick Becker, it turned out, had the use of a creaking Datsun whose better days were ancient history even in 1984. The thing got him home at least, once he checked Nick's driver's license for the address. Al had yet to return, so he got thoroughly lost in the little town before serendipitously passing the street on which Nick lived. He used someone's driveway to turn around, and watched house numbers till he found the Becker residence.  
  
He let himself in with the key; no one appeared to be home, so he explored the house a little till he found what had to be Nick's bedroom, with clothing lying strewn across the floor, the requisite unmade bed, an open closet door and trophies on the windowsill. A few college and pro team pennants shared wall space with posters of women. Sam peered curiously at one showing three young women, with the legend "Bananarama" at the bottom. They must be a music group, he thought, but who'd call a group Bananarama? He did recognize Madonna and Janet Jackson, but shuddered at the one of the woman in a red spaghetti-strap dress over white tulle petticoats, in black net stockings without shoes, and with her hair dyed pumpkin orange. She was in an odd position, as if dancing to some song, and wore a solemn look. "She's So Unusual" was scribbled in yellow across the woman's skirt, and at the top of the poster was inscribed the name Cyndi Lauper. "Unusual isn't the word," Sam mumbled out loud. He sighed and busied himself doing Nick's calculus homework, figuring it would keep him out of trouble till someone else got home.  
  
But within fifteen minutes, Sam had long since breezed through the homework and even done the assignments Nick had received in two other subjects. Nick, it seemed, was not the most intellectual kid in the world. For reading material he had no more than a collection of comic books and a few Stephen King novels, along with the usual dirty magazines under the bed. Before Sam could decide what to do next, he heard the Imaging Chamber door, signaling Al's return. "About time you got back here," he remarked a little belligerently. "Where've you been all this time?"  
  
"At school," replied a voice that didn't belong to Al at all. Both Sam and Al turned to Nick's bedroom door, there to see a young girl with long, stick-straight dark-brown hair and wide dark eyes staring at him. "I just got back."  
  
Sam cleared his throat. "Oh," he said, feeling foolish. That was a fairly frequent commodity in the course of his many Leaps, actually. "Well . . . uh, nice to see you."  
  
The girl gave him a strange look and asked softly, "Should I start supper?"  
  
Right on cue, Sam's (Nick's?) stomach growled. "That'd be great, thanks," Sam agreed. It wasn't just that he was hungry, but he needed to be left alone so he could speak with Al, who'd been standing by watching with inordinate interest. "Anything's fine."  
  
The girl nodded, looking very uncertain, and then made herself scarce. Sam looked curiously at Al. "Who was that? Must have been Nick's sister."  
  
"Yeah," Al said, coming out of what seemed like a trance. Sam realized that Al had been gaping at the girl in seeming fascination. "That was Colleen. She's fifteen. Complete opposite of Nick. Very shy and quiet, kind of a mouse, actually. Nick usually ignores her, and when he doesn't, he treats her pretty much as a nuisance. So I think you kinda confused her there, Sam."  
  
"Oh," Sam murmured, feeling more and more that if he had known Nick in high school, he wouldn't have liked the guy very much. "Um, well. So has Ziggy got anything?"  
  
"She's having trouble figuring this out for some reason," Al said and scowled. "She says all kinds of ugly things're gonna be happening this week, and damned if she knows which one's the one you need to fix in order to Leap outta here." He focused on Sam. "Maybe you can get her out of the logjam. You heard of anything that might be goin' on?"  
  
Sam abruptly felt his insides start to churn, and promptly lost his appetite. "I met Cord Ericson on the football field," he said. "Him and all the rest of Nick's friends. Cord said something about an initiation at the water tower tonight. Maybe that's what I'm here for."  
  
"Hm." Al poked at the chirruping handlink. "What's the name of the kid who's getting initiated?"  
  
"Mason," replied Sam. "They never use first names, so that's all I know."  
  
Al lifted his face and addressed the ceiling: "Hey, Gooshie, do me a favor and have Ziggy run through the names of all Cord Ericson's friends. Especially one named Mason." Al focused on Sam again. "What're the names of the other guys? That could help too."  
  
Sam, who could rely on a photographic memory in spite of the "Swiss-cheese" tendencies it had developed ever since he'd started Leaping, had no trouble providing the other surnames he'd heard Cord reel off earlier. Al repeated each surname to the air as Sam gave it to him, and then peered at the handlink for a minute or so. "Guess it's taking a bit. No, wait. Let's see. The kid undergoing the initiation is named Charlie Mason. They're meeting at the water tower because Charlie has to climb it and pain - " Al halted, clubbed the handlink with the heel of his hand and swore under his breath in Italian. "Oh. PAINT a message on the tower. And not a nice one either."  
  
"Does Ziggy say what happens when Charlie climbs the tower?" Sam asked tensely.  
  
Al nodded somberly. "He falls off the ladder about thirty feet up. He lives, but he's confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life."  
  
"Dammit," Sam grunted, causing Al to do a double take. It was rare for Sam to swear unless he felt very strongly about something, and clearly he did about this. "What time is this stupidity supposed to start?"  
  
"Nine this evening," replied Al. "You can just tell Nick's parents after supper that you're studying over at Cord's so you don't get Nick into trouble with them. You've gotta be there to stop this."  
  
"Oh, I will," Sam vowed grimly. 


	3. Act III

ACT III  
  
The water tower had to be somewhere near 200 feet high, and it was clear that Charlie Mason was having not just second thoughts, but third, fourth and fifth ones as well. Adam Woodling and Billy Gaines were nudging each other and muttering too low for the others to hear; Steve Hall, Kane Burton and Cord Ericson were all watching Charlie. Sam stood a little off to the side, hoping that Joey Sbraccia and Paul Norton would somehow fail to show up and they could call off this idiocy. He knew it was a futile hope, otherwise nothing would have happened to Charlie in the first history. About the best he could do was pray that he'd have some sort of warning so he could try to prevent the damage from Charlie's fall.  
  
Charlie's two friends, Russ Cormier and Elliot Lewis, hovered on either side of their companion, who clutched a can of paint and a brush and appeared to be on the verge of chickening out. In the long run, that would've been the wiser choice, Sam thought dismally. Cord, though, would probably blackball him for the rest of his school career, and Sam could see even before he'd been here a full 24 hours that Cord's opinions, ideas and judgments carried more cachet with the student body than did simple common sense.  
  
Finally Cord spoke into the thickening silence. "Where are those two damn stupid jackasses anyway?"  
  
The aforementioned jackasses chose that exact moment to charge into the weeds and grass under the water tower, both panting heavily. "Sorry, Cord," offered Joey Sbraccia. "I stopped at Paul's to pick him up and his mother was givin' us both the third degree."  
  
Cord spat into the grass. "You need to think up better excuses to give the old lady next time you leave for an initiation," he said with a small, mean smile. "Well, the gang's all here, so let's get on with it. Come on, Mason, this is your chance to be one of us."  
  
That was when Sam heard the grating rise of the Imaging Chamber door. There had been a few too many Leaps in which Al had been absent too long, too often, or at the wrong time; so Sam was eternally grateful that he was showing up just when he was needed this time around. "How's it coming?" asked Al. "Am I in time?" Sam nodded, hoping no one was looking at him.  
  
Now they all watched as Charlie Mason slowly approached the ladder. Seen from its foot, the thing appeared to lead the way into Kingdom Come itself. Sam kept a close eye on Charlie, feeling more sanguine about his chances of rescuing the boy when he fell now that Al was here to help warn him. The other boys offered mocking encouragement, hooting with laughter and pointing at the hapless Charlie. Sam remained silent, watching Charlie carefully. This wasn't anything to draw attention; the other boys' eyes were as glued to Charlie as Sam's own were.  
  
Awkwardly, trying to hold the paint can and the side of the ladder with the same hand at the same time and doing the same thing with the hand holding the brush, Charlie inched his way up the ladder, a slow rung at a time. The wind had picked up and Sam felt himself shiver in the chilly late- October night. The higher Charlie got, the more vulnerable he was to the freshening breeze, and the paint can began to sway alarmingly in Charlie's hand.  
  
"Don't drop it, Dutch Boy," jeered Joey Sbraccia, and this was greeted with yowls of mirth. Sam longed to give the kid what he deserved, but he didn't dare take his gaze off Charlie. Al echoed Sam's sentiments by snapping, "You little nozzle. Why don't you grow up." Of course Joey couldn't hear him, so Al's remark was wasted on him; but it made Sam feel better at least.  
  
"How far up is he?" shouted Steve Hall.  
  
"Not far enough," yelled Cord. "Keep movin', Mason."  
  
At that moment a particularly strong gust blasted through the legs of the water tower, catching Charlie off guard. The paint-can handle began to slip from his fingers, and Charlie panicked. He lunged to his left in an attempt to maintain his grip on the can, and his right hand slipped completely off the ladder. "Saaa-aaaaamm!!" Al shouted. "This is it!"  
  
Charlie tipped backwards off the ladder and Sam leaped into life, springing forward as Charlie fell. By some miracle, Sam got himself in the right spot, and half a second later Charlie landed squarely on top of him, knocking him flat. For a long moment both Sam and Charlie concentrated on their breathing, sucking in cold air as fast as they possibly could.  
  
"Man," someone said. "Didja see that?"  
  
"You okay?" Sam finally managed to ask. Charlie gave his head a couple of violent shakes and rolled off Sam, staring up at him with fear-filled eyes.  
  
"Yeah," Charlie managed, and Sam was gratified to see him slowly pick himself up. "Thanks, Nick, I think you saved my life."  
  
"Close enough," Al said, his voice gruff with relief. "Good going, Sam. Now all he'll have is some big ugly bruises."  
  
"Shit," said Cord Ericson suddenly, and they all turned to stare at him. Cord's face was a white mask of fury. "You little bastard, you coulda killed Becker, fallin' like that! Get that goddamn paint can and get your scrawny ass back on that ladder!"  
  
Sam was thunderstruck and incredibly enraged all at once. Without even thinking, he leaped to his feet and roared, "Charlie's not going anywhere tonight, Ericson! You're damned lucky I got under him, or he could've been paralyzed or even killed! And all you care about is your idiotic initiation! You must've gotten lost trying to find the line when they were handing out brains!" He whipped away from Cord and turned to Charlie. "As far as I'm concerned, you paid too high a price trying to get in with this bunch. I think it's time we head home. What say, guys?"  
  
Sam thought he could get to like the power of popularity: all the others nodded in subdued agreement, except for Cord. As the rest of the boys began to slink away in ones or twos, Sam realized he was less afraid of Cord when Cord was ranting and swearing. Now Cord merely stood and gaped at Sam, his face blooming with a fury Sam didn't think he'd seen since the time his dad had reamed him out for taking the tractor on a little joyride when he was about seven years old. Sam offered very quietly, "See you at school tomorrow, Cord," and turned to leave.  
  
Al followed along with him. "I think you've got some serious trouble on your hands," he remarked.  
  
Sam waited till he was certain he was out of Cord's or anyone else's earshot before he spoke. "I didn't Leap . . . so I guess this wasn't what I had to do. Now that I've prevented Charlie from spending his life in a wheelchair, what happens next?"  
  
Al pulled out the handlink and consulted it. "Well, there was supposed to be another initiation the night of the football game," he said, "but Ziggy says that's not gonna happen now. She doesn't know anything else, though. You better look out, Sam. You insulted Cord but good, and he's lost face in front of all the other guys. So he's gonna be looking for some way to get it back."  
  
Sam scowled. "I wonder what happened the first time around, when Charlie was paralyzed," he said. "Maybe it taught that jerk a lesson when it happened. But Charlie's okay, so Cord'll just go on daring people to do stupid, dangerous things just to win his approval." He had nearly said "friendship" instead of "approval", but something told Sam that friendship, in its true sense, was a foreign concept to Cord Ericson. "Just keep me posted, Al. Let me know the minute Ziggy finds out anything new."  
  
"You got it, Sam." Al stuffed the handlink back into his jacket pocket and started to clap a hand onto Sam's shoulder. They were both a touch nonplussed when it went right through. "Dammit, sometimes I hate bein' a hologram," Al complained. "Half the time I forget. Makes me feel like a freakin' ghost. Well, you head home and get some sleep. Me, I'm gonna have some dinner with Tina." It was a measure of Al's lack of composure that this statement was not accompanied by the usual anticipatory leer. Sam smiled sadly and watched Al disappear through the Imaging Chamber door. There were times when he'd have given his right foot to be able to follow him. 


	4. Act IV

ACT IV  
  
Throughout the rest of the week at school, Sam and Cord did what Al called "The Avoidance Tap Dance", occasionally going well out of their ways to keep their distance from each other. They were forced together at football practice, but Cord avoided speaking to Sam at all. As it turned out, by Thursday Sam had been approached by most of the other boys who'd been at the initiation and discovered that they all felt he had done the right thing in preventing any injury to Charlie and standing up to Cord. Charlie himself seemed to be in a state of apparent hero worship, which made Sam extremely uncomfortable.  
  
The one holdout turned out to be Elliot Lewis, who sat abruptly in front of Sam at his table in the cafeteria where he was eating with Charlie, Steve Hall and Adam Woodling. "So how's the big hero?" Elliot sneered. "Saved anybody else's butt lately, Becker?"  
  
"Lay off him," Charlie said angrily. "I think you're kinda jealous because your initiation got canceled for tomorrow night. Are you that desperate to be somebody that you have to make nice to a horse's ass like Cord Ericson?"  
  
"What're you, his freakin' butler?" Elliot shot back and dismissed him. "You really think you're somethin', don't ya, Becker. Well, I got news for you. Cord's on the warpath, in case you didn't know. You better watch your back, 'cause you're in deep crap."  
  
"You're pathetic," Sam said coolly. "Here you are accusing Charlie of being my butler. Looks to me like you've become Cord's lackey."  
  
"I warned you," Elliot said and got up as suddenly as he'd arrived, as though unable to think of a suitable retort. Sam and the boys watched him go, and after a moment Steve Hall cleared his throat uneasily.  
  
"You know how Cord is, man," he said. "I don't think I've ever seen anybody who's more fanatical about being in control of things. You know how it's been ever since first grade, Nick - Cord's always beaten people who don't go along with him into a pulp. That's why everybody was so impressed when you stood up to him the other night. Never thought any of us'd get up the guts for that."  
  
Probably, reflected Sam a bit glumly, Nick Becker wouldn't have done it either had he been inhabiting his own body. It was entirely possible that, in saving Charlie, Sam had condemned Nick to serious harm.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
By Friday afternoon after school, Sam was a nervous wreck. Partly it had to do with the football game to be played against Alderton High School that evening, but it was more to do with how Cord would treat him on the field. In the frenzy of a football game, it was possible for Cord to get away with something. Sam paced Nick's bedroom, wondering where Al was and fuming that Ziggy had yet to enlighten them as to what was going to happen this evening instead of the initiation. Actually, Sam hadn't seen Al more than once on Thursday, and that very briefly. It looked as if Al had been interrupted in the middle of something: he'd been dressed in pinstriped pajama bottoms and a very ratty brick-red plaid flannel robe, and his normally tidy hair had been a rumpled mess. When Sam had demanded what Al was doing, Al had mumbled something about Tina managing to draw free time two nights in a row, added perfunctorily that Ziggy still had no new information, and let the Imaging Chamber door shut him out of sight before Sam had time to protest.  
  
Dimly he registered female voices in the next room, undoubtedly those of Colleen and Mrs. Becker. Sam had barely taken any notice of Colleen after he first met her, which as he understood it was characteristic of Nick anyway; so none of the other Beckers noticed anything amiss. Sam gave excuses that he had homework that needed doing and spent as much time as possible in Nick's bedroom. Actually, he'd spent a lot of that time being apprehensive about Cord and desperately bored by turns. During his periods of boredom he'd tried to amuse himself by solving calculus equations from Nick's textbook, with the result that Nick was now some two months ahead of the rest of his class. He was about to make it three, when there came the sound of grating stone. Sam wondered if he'd ever been so happy to hear that noise.  
  
"What happened to you?" he demanded. "Do you know how long it's been since you were here last?"  
  
Al stood for a moment and gazed at Sam while he fiddled with a cigar whose ash was steadily increasing. "Well, hello to you too, Sam," he said coolly. "And how are we today?"  
  
"Anxious," Sam replied. "Did Ziggy ever come up with anything?"  
  
Al shook his head and took a deliberate drag on the cigar. "Nada," he said. Sam stared at him for a long moment, torn between disbelief at Ziggy's continual failures and gratitude that the cigar, like Al, was a hologram. Sam could think of only a scant handful of things that smelled worse than cigars.  
  
"Great," Sam said, frustration finally winning out over both the other emotions. "Ziggy's hitting a brick wall, you disappear for two straight days and have an attitude when you come back, and I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop with Cord the Creep. Can things possibly get any worse?"  
  
Al's chilly mien dissolved when Sam said this. "What's he been up to?"  
  
"He doesn't even come near me," said Sam. "I don't know if that's good or bad."  
  
Al shrugged. "I'd call it good," he remarked, "considering what we're dealing with here. See, I think Ziggy's problem is that whatever Cord-O's planning to do, he hasn't told anybody about it, or else we'd've found out by now."  
  
"He does have one loyalist," Sam said, "Elliot Lewis. Elliot wandered around during lunch and took it upon himself to warn me on Cord's behalf that I'd better watch my back, but he didn't get specific about it. I can't walk around looking over my shoulder every five seconds. Whatever Cord's planning, I wish he'd just get on with it so I can do something about it."  
  
Al sighed and pulled out his handlink to stare at it. Only then did Sam really look at what Al was wearing: this time, he was dressed in a searing lemon-yellow jacket and slacks, with a deep amethyst shirt under that and a kelly-green tie that seemed to be fashioned from lamé. "Turn off that suit," said Sam. "It's blinding me."  
  
"You're a regular comedian, Sam," Al said sarcastically, but didn't look up from the handlink. "I'm not gettin' a thing on this. Something's gotta give, and soon. I always did hate suspense."  
  
There was a tap on the door and both Al and Sam turned to see Colleen standing there, decked out in a lace-trimmed white blouse and a denim- colored calf-length skirt with a country-girl ruffle peeking from the hem. Her face was flushed and she looked excited. "Nick, could you take me to the game with you?" Colleen asked. "I'm meeting someone there."  
  
Sam nodded. "Sure, no problem. You look really pretty tonight, Colleen."  
  
Colleen stared at him for a moment, then smiled faintly, looking very surprised indeed. "Wow, thanks, Nick. That's nice to hear, coming from you."  
  
Sam smiled at her. "Well, it's true. Let me know when you're ready, and we can leave then."  
  
"Okay," Colleen agreed and ducked back into her own room. Sam turned back to see Al looking amazed.  
  
"What's the matter?" he asked.  
  
Al slowly shook his head. "The kid sister's all dressed up. Sam, this is a kid that nobody ever notices, even her own brother most of the time. She just goes through life keeping to herself and doing her schoolwork. She's a little mouse. If you ask me, though, she's dressed up for a date. Now who in the heck would up and ask Little Miss Nobody for a date? Didja see how excited she was?"  
  
"I don't get it," Sam protested. "How do you know all this about Colleen Becker anyway? If she's so overlooked, how would anybody know whether she ever did anything or not?"  
  
"Ziggy checked out this family," Al said. "Your Swiss-cheese memory really lost a big chunk of info there, Sam. Ziggy's the computer equivalent of the Six-Million-Dollar Man. You know, better, stronger, faster. She knows everything. Something doesn't sit right about all this. I'm gonna have Ziggy check out a hunch I've got. See you at the game, and, uh . . . keep an eye on Colleen as long as you can."  
  
Sam frowned and started to ask something, but Al didn't wait around for an answer and vanished back through the Imaging Chamber door. Just as well, he realized when he happened to glance at Nick's digital clock radio. He and Colleen had to get to the game anyway. 


	5. Act V

ACT V  
  
Sam tried to make small talk with Colleen on the way to school, but he soon discovered that Al had been right on the money in saying she was a mouse. Colleen was clearly astonished that Nick was even talking to her, and she couldn't seem to find anything much to say. By the time Sam thought to see if Al was right and ask Colleen if she had a date for the evening, they'd already reached the school and Sam had to concentrate on finding an empty parking space in the thick traffic.  
  
Once they reached the field, Colleen vanished into the crowd almost immediately, nullifying Al's suggestion that Sam keep an eye on her. So far Sam hadn't heard from Al yet and had to wonder just what the story was here. Al had gotten pretty excited about Colleen getting dressed up, but in all honesty Sam didn't see what the fuss was. Surely Colleen must have at least one friend. But then again, why would anyone dress up just to meet a friend to see a football game? No, maybe Al was onto something. But Sam couldn't understand why Al was so interested in Colleen. For all Sam knew, Colleen reminded Al of his sister Trudy.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Some three-quarters of the way through the game, Cord Ericson finally chose to act. Sam had the ball and was pelting madly for the end zone when an Alderton player veered right out in front of him. Before he could react, Sam had slammed straight into the other boy, and no sooner had they landed on the turf than Sam got the breath knocked out of him by what felt like a dropped piano. The football squirted out of Sam's grasp, and a roar went up in the stands as it waddled comically a few feet over the grass before being pounced upon by a Maple Crossing player. That was all Sam saw, because the piano atop him growled, "Tonight's revenge night, Becker," and then drove a boulder of a fist deep into Sam's left side at a shockingly high speed for someone trapped midway up in a pile of human beings.  
  
The next few minutes were hazy for Sam; he was dimly aware of having four or five other bodies pulled off him and being helped across the field to the bench. The coach poked and prodded at him while Sam fought to hold down the contents of his stomach. All the while his head whirled with Cord's words.  
  
"I'm not sure, Coach," he suddenly heard Cord say, from very near by. It was as if Cord's voice alone was programmed to stand out from the massive pain in his side and the nausea he was trying so hard to combat. "I guess somebody fell on him wrong. Are his ribs broken?"  
  
"Can't quite tell, son," the coach replied. "We're going to keep him out of the rest of the game. You get back in and see if you can finish what Nick started. Helluva run he was on before that Alderton kid jumped in front of him like that. Kid must've had a death wish or something."  
  
"Got it, coach," Cord answered. But once the coach had moved out of earshot, Cord bent down and shoved his face right up into Sam's. "That's just the beginning, Becker," he hissed so that only Sam could hear him. "And it's not stoppin' with you. I got me a little date tonight and you're not gettin' in my way." He bared his teeth in a skull's grin before backing off and jogging onto the field.  
  
Sam stared after him. What did he care if Cord went out with someone? He was hurting too much to think straight, so that when Al reappeared at last, it was the first thing he said. "Why should I care if Cord Ericson has a date tonight, Al?"  
  
Al stared at him in confusion. "Huh?" Then he noticed Sam's expression, and a look of horror began to creep over his features. "What happened to you? You're as green as a Vulcan."  
  
Sam, wondering what a Vulcan was, swallowed thickly and managed to explain it to Al in as few words as possible. "The nozzle," Al said tightly. "Well, we knew he was up to no good anyway. I just wish we could figure out what's next."  
  
"Cord's got a date," Sam said, breathing heavily.  
  
Al scowled. "Why the hell would anybody want to go out with a . . . " His voice died out and he turned slowly to Sam, his eyes going nearly perfectly round. "Sa-aammmmm . . . Colleen was all dressed up. You don't get dressed up just for a football game. What if she . . . "  
  
Sam took a long moment to get the connection, but when he did, he scoffed. "Oh, come on, Al. Cord and Colleen? You can't be serious."  
  
"Oh yes I can," Al informed him and shifted his gaze to something Sam couldn't see. "Gooshie! Gooshie, see if Ziggy can find out anything that connects Cord Ericson with Colleen Becker, and on the double. We got only a quarter or so left to take action here." Al paused a moment, as if waiting for someone to acknowledge his request, and then moved closer to Sam to examine him more carefully. "Jeeeeeez, Sam, when you get yourself banged up, you don't do it halfway, do ya?"  
  
"I had some help," Sam mumbled. The nausea had finally receded, but the pain was constant and he wanted only to concentrate on breathing. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. The primality of it was comforting.  
  
The game had gotten back under way again and Sam realized he didn't care whether Maple Crossing won or lost. Waiting for the game to end, waiting for the information Al had requested from Gooshie, waiting for the pain in his side to fade . . . waiting to Leap. Waiting to go home. For that, Sam feared he would be waiting forever, though he dared not examine this too closely or for too long. It was as if he was afraid that if he did bring the question under conscious study, God or Fate or Whoever would read his mind and permanently deny him the one thing he wanted most in all the world. Sam closed his eyes and let his mind wander wherever it wanted.  
  
"Sam. Sam! Don't fall asleep, Sam," Al cautioned, his voice rising in Sam's ear. Sam opened his eyes and squinted slightly in the blinding stadium lights. "Sam, I got it. I was right! Gooshie says Ziggy found a newspaper article dated October 27, 1984, that mentions both Cord Ericson and Colleen Becker." Al hesitated, and Sam stared expectantly at him.  
  
"Well, come on," he said at last, annoyed because Al had made him talk when he just wanted to breathe. Inhale, exhale . . . "What were you right about?"  
  
"My hunch," Al said and cleared his throat, casting one killing glance at the football field before reluctantly revealing, "Colleen does have a date. With Cord Ericson." 


	6. Act VI

ACT VI  
  
Sam was so stunned he almost forgot the pain in his side. His mind worked crazily for a few long seconds, trying to find something to say, but nothing seemed right except what finally emerged from his mouth. "WHY????"  
  
Al shook his head helplessly. "Only Colleen can tell you that. But Sam, that newspaper article changes a lot about this Leap. Ziggy says there's a ninety-eight-percent chance that this is what you gotta do to Leap."  
  
"Yeah, okay, but what exactly do I have to do?" Sam persisted.  
  
Al consulted the handlink. "The article appears in the morning newspaper. It says that Colleen Becker was found in the town park around five o'clock Saturday morning, October 27, by a jogger and his dog. She was barely alive, Sam. She'd been raped, and her own panty hose had been tied around her neck, like the rapist was trying to strangle her to death. She woke up in the ambulance and said two words. 'Cord Ericson.' The article says the police brought him in for questioning, but he wasn't admitting to anything."  
  
Sam gingerly feathered a finger over the spot where Cord's fist had connected with his ribs. "There has to be more to it than that. You can't tell me that's all Ziggy found. What else is there?"  
  
Al's face was a study in fury and hatred, and he was glaring at the back of Cord Ericson's jersey as Cord fought his way toward the end zone. "Colleen had lost all her will to live. Nobody could get her to talk: not the police, not Nick, not her parents. I told you she was a mouse, Sam - she thought she deserved it, somehow. She refused to testify, and within a month she'd died."  
  
Sam cursed softly, as much from the pain in his side as at Al's revelations. "What happened to Cord?"  
  
"He was tried for rape and murder, but the jury decided there wasn't enough evidence and let him off scot-free. So Colleen's dead, and Cord's roaming the planet probably boasting how he got away with murder. Just like another former football player we've all heard of." Al scowled. "Stop him, Sam."  
  
Sam scowled right back at him. "Easy for you to say. 'Stop him, Sam.' First of all, I have to stay here on this bench till the game's over. Second of all, there are hundreds of people here, and I have absolutely no idea where Colleen's sitting. Third of all, you might keep in mind that Mr. Star Player out there tried to cave in some of my - well, Nick's ribs, and it HURTS. If they're not broken I'm sure they're at least cracked. I can barely even breathe without it hurting, Al. Believe me, I'd love to stop that jerk from getting his hands on Colleen. But I need to overcome all these obstacles, and I'm gonna need your help." He drew in a long breath, winced and let it out very slowly. "And what other former football player are you talking about, anyway?"  
  
Al started to speak, then caught himself and stared at Sam. "Well, never mind that. That's ten years from now. Maybe I'll tell you all about it someday." He seemed to shake himself and cleared his throat. "Like I said, never mind that now."  
  
Sam was staring onto the field now, his eyes unfocused. "How did it get to this?" he murmured, half to himself. "What happened?"  
  
"You changed history, Sam," Al said. "When you saved Charlie Mason from being permanently wheelchair-bound, you changed the ensuing events, see. Remember I told you there was originally supposed to be another initiation? After Charlie's got screwed up and you told off Cord, the other guys in the gang were impressed enough that they all backed out of the next one, the one that was gonna be tonight. Cord's apparently had them under his thumb since they started school together, and nobody had the courage to stand up to him, till you came along. That's why Cord's so P.O.'d at you, and he plans to pay you back in the worst way he can think of." Al peered at the handlink, which had started chirping at him, and shook his head. "Man oh man, Sam, you really got Nick and Colleen into deep ca-ca. Cord was so P.O.'d he decided to make Colleen pay as well as Nick."  
  
"But Colleen's innocent," Sam protested, outraged. By now a couple of the other boys on the bench were watching him talking seemingly to the air, and Al noticed.  
  
"Pipe down, Sam, you got an audience," he said, and Sam turned to stare at the two who were gawking at him. He smiled faintly.  
  
"My side," he said weakly. "It's making me see things."  
  
"Wow, that other guy musta hit you in the head too," remarked one of the other players and grinned. "You're supposed to go to the locker room when you get hit hard enough to be taken outta the game, Becker, or didja forget that?"  
  
"Perfect," said Al. "Come on, Sam, let's go."  
  
Slowly Sam got up and began to head for the locker room. Once he was actually on his feet, it wasn't so bad, and he got there just after Maple Crossing scored a touchdown, sending up a jubilant roar from the bleachers. Sam paused long enough to scan the stands for Colleen, but couldn't see her anywhere. At that point a buzzer sounded and Al waved his arms frantically to get Sam's attention.  
  
"Two-minute warning, Sam," Al shouted. "We don't have much time!"  
  
Sam loped into the locker room, found the bench in front of Nick's locker and settled his battered body onto it with the greatest possible care. Once seated, he released his breath in a fevered whoosh. "Colleen's innocent," he picked up the thread of their discussion. "So why's Cord after her?"  
  
"Cord and Nick were best friends ever since childhood," Al explained. "They stuck by each other through thick and thin. All for one, one for all . . . you know. Cord was always the more aggressive one, though, and Nick usually just went right along with whatever he suggested. As they got older, Cord got into more and more dangerous things, and Nick never tried to stop him. Sometimes he'd refuse to go into things with Cord, but no more than that. Cord got away with everything, and that's why he's such a monster now. So obviously, he sees this as a betrayal on Nick's part, and he's gonna get as much revenge as he can."  
  
"Where'd you find out all this?" Sam demanded, amazed at how much Al seemed to know.  
  
Al actually looked embarrassed. "Uh, well . . . Nick started seeing a psychiatrist after Colleen's death, and Ziggy broke into the records." Sam's expression grew stern, and Al held up both hands, one of which still clutched the colorfully pulsing handlink. "Sam, it's for a good cause. You know Ziggy would never hack into any other computer without a really good reason. Hell, YOU programmed her ethical sense, you oughta know!"  
  
Sam sighed deeply, wincing again at the pain it cost him, and ever-so- carefully leaned back against the lockers behind him. "Okay, okay. Well, we've established the backstory here, so at least I know what's going to happen and why. Now what I need to know is how to stop it."  
  
Al glanced at the handlink. "We have a little less than a minute left, game time," he said. "Might give us as much as five minutes real time. When the team comes back in here, Sam, see if you can get Cord to tell you what he's planning. He'll probably talk, since he thinks he's put Nick out of commission enough to keep him from stopping it. Play it up and make the injury look even worse than it is, that'll up the chances of getting something we can use. Once you find out what you need to know, get out to Nick's car and try to follow Cord and Colleen. I'll be with you all the way, Sam, okay?"  
  
The plan sounded too easy; Sam knew something was going to go wrong. Al would probably have said he was a pessimist for thinking that way, but the scientist in him was constantly calculating odds. And he'd been Leaping long enough by now that he'd learned to expect things to go wrong when it was the most inconvenient. "So Al . . . you really think I can stop Cord from raping and trying to strangle Colleen, all by myself, with these either-broken-or-cracked ribs?"  
  
Al stared at him. "You have to, Sam. It's Colleen's only chance."  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. Where had he heard that line before? It sounded like something out of a bad movie in which the hero overcame everything under the sun, including permanent and total paralysis, to miraculously save the fair damsel in distress. "Al, I hate to tell you this, but I'm not Superman. And I'm getting really tired of being someone's 'only chance'. Just once, I'd like to have some help on a Leap - that is, some help that can physically help me!"  
  
"Not my fault I'm a hologram," Al said innocently. The handlink squawked, and he squinted at it. "Uh-oh, game's over. I can't do much about getting you some physical help, Sam, but at least I can give you moral support. Good luck - I'll be waiting next to Nick's car." And he popped out, like something out of an old TV series Sam remembered from his childhood. Something about a witch who could . . .  
  
The thunder of the team stampeding into the locker room drowned out Sam's thoughts, and he tried again to concentrate on his breathing. It wasn't hard to look pained; his side ached like nobody's business. This had to work, odds of failure be damned: he simply couldn't let an innocent girl take the brunt of Cord's self-appointed punishment. 


	7. Act VII

ACT VII  
  
Someone thudded heavily onto the bench next to Sam, whose eyes popped wide open with surprise and a jolt of additional pain at the impact. He knew without looking that it had to be Cord. "We win or lose?" he asked. It sounded stupid, but it was the only way Sam could think of to get the other boy to talk.  
  
"Hurt ya, did I, you little pansy-ass traitor?" Cord muttered, ignoring Sam's question and responding instead to the wince of pain. Sam rolled his head against the locker door so that he was looking at Cord, whose sweaty face bore an expression of utter satisfaction. "It was my touchdowns that got us the game. I put you outta the action, I win the whole thing all by myself, and now I'm goin' out to celebrate. It's gonna be some night, Becker." Cord leered at Sam, who simply gazed at him.  
  
"How'd you ever get my sister to agree to a date with you?" Sam asked, almost pleasantly.  
  
For just one moment Cord looked taken aback. "How. . . " he began, then shrugged. "She probably told you. Hell, it was easy. We both know she's nothin', nobody. She's a classic wallflower. She oughta be grateful that the big football star noticed her and asked her out." He smirked. "She'll have a REAL good time, don't you worry, big brother."  
  
"Oh, I bet," Sam said, closing his eyes for a moment and swallowing. "I suppose you're going to the local burger joint, seeing as that sounds like your idea of a big date." He managed to inject enough pain into the remark that the sarcasm eluded Cord entirely.  
  
"Sure the ribs ain't broken?" Cord taunted. "Want me to finish breakin' 'em for ya?" Abruptly he leaned in toward Sam (who instinctively withdrew, and grimaced and gritted his teeth when the ribs reacted), his face within millimeters of Sam's. "You made me look like a total asshole in front of the guys, Becker. You broke the creed, man. We were friends till the end. Never thought you'd go Benedict Arnold on me. Well, now you're gonna pay for that. You made a helluva big mistake, Becker. So I'm gonna make sure you regret it for the rest of your life."  
  
"Damn it, Cord, leave Colleen out of it." The words came out in an agonized moan. "She never did anything to you. If you got a problem with me, you take it out on me, but keep your hands off her. If you have any sense of honor . . . "  
  
"Honor?" Cord exploded in an incredulous whisper. "Why should I show you any honor after what you did to me? First you pay, then your sister." He turned the air blue with one fierce expletive and stalked off for the showers. His aura dared anyone to say one word to him.  
  
Desperation drove Sam to his feet despite the raging fire in his left side. Heedless of the fact that he was still wearing Nick's football uniform, cleats, pads and all, he yanked open the locker labeled "Becker", grabbed Nick's keys, wallet and street clothes, slammed the door shut again and lurched for the exit to the parking lot. Sam's reasoning was that he might be able to get to Colleen before Cord did, and warn her about what was coming. Failing that, at least he'd be closer to Nick's car, and with any luck he'd be able to follow them to wherever they were going.  
  
Try as he might, Sam could not find Colleen anywhere in the departing crowds. The parking lot was about half empty and a line of cars was moving slowly toward the access road that led off campus. Breath hissing through his teeth, he started towards Nick's aging Datsun, all his focus on reaching the car. As promised, Al was there waiting - inside the car. Sam rolled his eyes and managed to fit the key into the lock.  
  
"Least you could've done was unlock the door for me," Sam twitted Al with a faint grin, easing into the driver's seat and yanking the door closed.  
  
"Hilarious, Sam," was all Al would say to that. "Where's Cord?"  
  
"In the showers," Sam told him. "I couldn't get it out of him where he's taking Colleen, and what's more, I couldn't find Colleen on the way out here. I don't know why - I figured she'd be waiting for Cord by the exit I came out of. Since she wasn't there, I came over here. Trying to get a head start on Cord."  
  
"Good thinkin', Sam," Al encouraged him. "Actually, Cord probably told Colleen to wait for him in the bleachers. He might be a slimeball, but he's not stupid."  
  
"Damn shame," Sam remarked and started to get out of the car.  
  
"Hey, wait a minute, where you goin'?" Al demanded frantically. "If you're thinkin' of heading to the bleachers to warn Colleen, let me tell you this, buddy - you don't have enough time for that. Right now you're ahead of the game. Sit tight and wait, and for cryin' out loud, don't start the car till you see which one Cord and Colleen get into. Don't make it obvious you're followin' 'em, or else - "  
  
"Here they come," Sam cut him off. "You can tell me how to drive without my lights on later." He stared intently at Cord and Colleen, walking leisurely under the sodium lamps that threw a sickly pinkish-orange glow over everything. Cord had his arm around Colleen's shoulders, and she was giggling. Old Jekyll-and-Hyde, thought Sam. His side still pounded, but he ignored it.  
  
Cord stopped at a small white Trans Am and astounded both Sam and Al by opening the passenger-side door for Colleen and handing her inside. "What a freakin' gentleman," spat Al derisively. "Damn hypocritical dirtbag."  
  
They watched Cord walk around the car and get into his side, and a moment later they heard the engine roar to life and saw the lights go on. "Now, Sam," Al blurted, leaning forward with a look of . . . was that excitement Sam saw on his face? Sam snorted softly to himself and turned the key in the ignition.  
  
The engine cranked but wouldn't turn over; Sam let go of the key and then tried again. Still he couldn't get the car to start. Each time he tried, the resulting desolate whines from the engine were fewer and slower. "Aw, sweet paradise, not now!" Al moaned.  
  
"Of all the times for this to happen," muttered Sam. "I knew something was gonna go wrong." He left the key in the ignition and struggled out of the car, intending to open the hood and see if the problem was simple enough for him to fix quickly; but then a voice hailed him.  
  
"Nick! Hey, Nick, you okay?" Sam looked up and was amazed to see Charlie Mason approaching him at a run. "Anything wrong?"  
  
Sam got an idea and ran with it. This might just turn out to be a godsend after all. "Yeah, Charlie, could you do me a huge favor? My car just broke down and I really need help."  
  
"No problem," Charlie agreed instantly. "Come on, my car's right over here."  
  
"Hallelujah!" Al rejoiced, following along behind Sam and Charlie. Sam shot a glance across the parking lot where Cord's Trans Am had joined the line of cars waiting to get off the school campus. 'Thank God for traffic,' he thought and grinned to himself over the absurdity of that.  
  
"You need to get to a shop or something?" Charlie asked. "Need a tow? Jumper cables?"  
  
"Actually," Sam said, "I need you to follow that white Trans Am over there."  
  
Charlie's gaze followed Sam's pointing finger. "That's Cord Ericson's car," he realized. "I thought you guys weren't speaking anymore."  
  
"Yeah, well, he's got my sister Colleen with him," Sam said urgently. "He's out for revenge, not just against me but Colleen too. I need to get to her before he hurts her somehow." Knowing how much and how little of his prescience to reveal came almost instinctively now, after all the Leaps he'd made. "I was gonna do it, but then my car wouldn't start."  
  
Charlie looked alarmed. "Oh man," he said. "Well, let's get this show on the road, then." He unlocked his door, threw himself inside and leaned over to unlock Sam's door. Al conveniently popped into the backseat while Sam tried to move faster than his tortured ribs wanted to allow. He was still buckling up when Charlie pulled out of his space and headed for the end of the line waiting to leave. In the time it had taken them to get moving, two other cars had gotten in line, separating them from Cord and Colleen.  
  
"Tell him not to be quite so gung-ho, Sam," Al suggested wryly. "Otherwise Cord'll discover he's being followed before he gets off campus."  
  
Sam relayed this information to Charlie and drummed his fingers nervously on the dashboard in front of him. For all its length, the line kept moving, and it wasn't long before they saw Cord make a right-hand turn off the school grounds. "There he goes," Al yelled, getting into the spirit of the chase. Sam wished for a moment that Charlie could hear Al too, just so Sam would have the freedom to turn around and tell him to be quiet.  
  
"This is the way to Starlight Pond," Charlie noted after a few minutes. They had already left Maple Crossing behind by now and the road wound through thick, black forest. "Think he's going there?"  
  
"Uh . . . " Sam hedged, hoping Al would fill in the blanks.  
  
Obligingly Al said, "Naw, that's the local lovers' lane. Too many people there, especially on a Friday night. Cord's gonna want some privacy."  
  
"No," Sam said, "Cord would have witnesses if he went there." Something Al had said earlier came back to him. "The park."  
  
"Which one?" Charlie asked.  
  
Horror bloomed in Sam's gut. "Uh, well, uh - the one where everyone jogs," he said, verbally groping. "With their dogs. You know." He hoped Charlie did know.  
  
"Right," Charlie said and brightened. "So you think he's headed for Rossum's Park, then. But that won't work, it's closed this time of night."  
  
"All the better for what Cord's got in mind," Sam replied grimly. He felt as if he were stuck in a bad TV show with a well-meaning but inept sidekick. Well, he reflected, they didn't need a Mensa member to achieve their objective, just a willing helper. Which, Sam realized suddenly and with great hope, was exactly what he had wished for back in the locker room. Perhaps God or Fate or Whoever was smiling on him after all, at least a little. He certainly liked his chances a little better.  
  
"Ease up on the gas, Speed Racer," Al warned from the back. "We're gonna catch up with Cord."  
  
"There," Sam said abruptly. "That sign said Rossum's Park, and I just saw Cord's taillights turn."  
  
Charlie coughed nervously. "I hate this back entrance," he complained, slowing and making the turn onto what proved to be a rutted, single-lane dirt road. "They should've called this part Rossum's Forest. Ten to one Cord parks somewhere in here - it's so pitch-black out, he could count on no one seeing him."  
  
"I'd like to know how WE'RE gonna see him," Sam muttered, staring so hard out the windshield and the side window by turns that his eyes were beginning to ache right along with his ribs. "I wish we had some kind of infrared sensor. The minute he turns his car lights off, we've lost him."  
  
"No problemo," Al announced cheerfully, and a beam reminiscent of the blue light Sam experienced every time he Leaped appeared from the handlink and probed into the trees. "No smartass high-school jock could possibly be a match for Ziggy and her trusty gimmicks." He waved the handlink around like a flashlight and Sam almost sighed, cutting it short when his ribs howled at him. He couldn't help but wonder how he was going to rescue Colleen with only a hologram and a junior Barney Fife as backup. 


	8. Act VIII

ACT VIII  
  
Charlie slowed to about two miles an hour and tried to split his attention between his driving and the search for Cord's Trans Am. Al finally noticed and barked, "Kid, watch the road!" as if Charlie could hear him. Sam, too intent on his own search to turn around, told Charlie to concentrate on driving and let him do the looking.  
  
"Right," mumbled Charlie in a perplexed tone, and Sam knew in the back of his brain somewhere that Charlie was wondering how Sam knew what he was doing without seeing him. He shut the thought firmly away and all but put his head through the window trying to see into the inky dark that had swallowed them.  
  
"Black as Beelzebub's heart out here," Al muttered, sweeping his "flashlight" beam through the dense woods. "That stinkin' kid knew exactly what he was doing all right. I dunno, Sam, maybe he knew we were following him after all and stranded us in here to throw us off his trail . . . "  
  
At this precise moment the blue beam caught a horizontal line in its scope, and Sam yelled, "Stop the car!" Startled, Charlie slammed on the brakes, which caused the unprepared Sam to lunge forward in his seat, only to be practically hanged on the restraining belt. This latest jar on his ribs was too much for them, and Sam grayed out from the instantaneous bolt of agony that stabbed him.  
  
"SAAAAAAAAMMMMM!!" Al screamed, pulling Sam back to consciousness and making him think it was a wonder Charlie hadn't heard it. "Don't pass out on us now, you're too close!"  
  
"Charlie, right in here," Sam gasped, panting from the torture. "Turn here and leave the headlights on."  
  
"How can you see anything to know he's in there?" Charlie protested, but did as directed, to the great relief of both Sam and Al. "Man, I sure hope you're right."  
  
Since they hadn't seen Cord's car since turning onto the park-entrance road, there was no way of knowing how much time Cord had had to put his insidious plan into action. Charlie inched the car into the trees just until they could all see the back of the white Trans Am, then belatedly switched on his high beams. These revealed that both car doors stood wide open; there appeared to be no one inside.  
  
"Aw, hell, Sam -- " Al cried. "He must've dragged her off into the woods . . . "  
  
Sam released the restraining belt, shoved open his door and nearly fell out of the car. Al popped into being beside him at the same time a wild, terrified scream shattered the cold night. "HELP MEEEEE!!!!!"  
  
"Fight him, Colleen, we're coming!" Al shouted. "Come on, Sam, you gotta get to her!"  
  
"My ribs . . . " Sam moaned, a hairsbreadth away from tears. He truly couldn't remember ever being in this much pain; by now he was about ninety percent certain that Nick's ribs were broken. If Cord hadn't broken them with his punch, all the bumping and jarring Sam had been through since then had doubtless finished the job. "Man, when Nick gets back, he's gonna find himself in the hospital."  
  
"That's for later," Al bawled, sweeping both arms repeatedly to his right like a man directing an airplane to a terminal gate and sending the blue beam weaving all across the surrounding treetops, searchlight-fashion. "Colleen first, Sam. GET TO COLLEEN!!"  
  
Once again they heard Colleen scream in fear and pain. Sam heaved himself to his feet, sucking in air, certain he was going to throw up any minute now. He stumbled wretchedly along past Cord's car, around the open passenger door and into a tiny clearing where Cord's headlights picked out a horrible tableau. All Sam could see was Colleen's legs kicking frenetically and Cord's bare butt pointing into the air. And out of nowhere, Sam's Swiss-cheesed memory yielded an image of his little sister, Katie, covered with bruises and sporting an enormous shiner, offering lame explanations for the black-and-blue marks when the whole family knew damn good and well they were courtesy of Chuck, that useless lout she had married.  
  
Rage, along with curse words in about eight different languages, filled Sam's brain and exploded from him in one unintelligible roar. He reacted on instinct, without conscious thought. Seizing a thick fallen branch from the ground, he staggered over to Cord and smashed it down on Cord's naked backside with every last ounce of strength he had in him. McCord Ericson had probably never in his life had such a violent spanking; at least, Sam devoutly hoped not. He didn't want the miserable little bastard to ever forget this punishment.  
  
"What the HELL -- !!" screamed Cord and rolled off Colleen, who immediately shrank into a fetal position and began to sob heavily. Sam advanced on Cord with the branch in both hands, all the while panting hoarsely and heavily like a grizzly bear on the rampage. Sam's fury was so great he barely even noticed his ribs anymore; he was a fountain of adrenaline, fueled by the worst anger he had known in perhaps his entire life.  
  
However, the ribs slowed him up enough that Cord had time to recognize him. "Well, lookit here . . . it's Big Bad Brother Becker, come to rescue you, Colleen!" he sneered. Sam, still in primal mode, couldn't switch back to human in time to keep Cord from whisking the branch right out of his hands. "We'll just see about that, won't we!" As he spoke he swung the branch around and clobbered Sam in the very ribs that had already sustained far more than their share of abuse. Sam howled and collapsed, reduced to a lump of white-hot agony.  
  
Al, who had been helplessly watching everything from a few feet away, went ballistic. "Dammit, Gooshie! Ziggy! Do something! I gotta get through to Sam! Aw crap, I HATE bein' a hologram at times like this!" Before he could rail any further, though, he caught a movement in his peripheral vision, and focused just in time to see Charlie Mason charge at full speed directly into Cord, head-butting him in the chest. Al cheered like a maniac. "Way to go, Charlie!! Give that S.O.B. what he's got coming!"  
  
Cord had actually been pitched off his feet by the force of Charlie's blow and landed flat on his still-naked rump. Charlie was in almost as much of a rage as Sam had been a few moments ago. "That was for what you did to Nick," he bellowed, and then whacked a surprisingly well-aimed foot straight into Cord's unprotected groin. "And THAT was for Colleen!"  
  
But the most amazing thing of all was Colleen herself. The sheer incredible noise of the confrontation had surprised her out of her sobs just to watch. Now she climbed to her feet, smoothed her skirt in a curiously dignified manner, marched to Cord and kicked him soundly in the ribs - not just once, but three times, as hard as she possibly could. "Now you know how my brother feels," she said.  
  
Al felt his eyes fill with tears. "Atta girl," he whispered. "Atta girl, Colleen. You're gonna be one hell of a strong woman."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
The Becker family, Charlie and a host of others had come and gone, and the room was quiet now after visiting hours. Lying in the hospital bed, pleasantly dazed on painkillers and half asleep, Sam regarded Al with bleary eyes. "Is that really what happened?" he murmured.  
  
"Sure is," Al said with a beatific smile. "You caught Cord just in time to keep him from raping Colleen, and those two kids found strength they probably didn't know they had. This new history you created is amazing, Sam. Cord finally gets his. Not only is he thrown off the football team, he's suspended from school. Eventually, with Charlie and Colleen and Nick to testify against him, he'll head for juvie. Never really amounts to much after he gets out, he just kinda disappears into time. Nick and Charlie become best friends. And hey, get this, Sam. Charlie and Colleen start dating . . . and wow, they get married in 1992!" Al beamed as if he himself had given away the bride.  
  
"Look at you," Sam said, curiosity finally piqued beyond endurance. "You were all but fixated on Colleen all the way through this Leap. Does she make you think of Trudy or something?"  
  
Al shook his head, his eyes suddenly downcast. "Nah," he mumbled and fidgeted with the handlink. "She looks like Beth did in high school, that's all."  
  
"Ahh," murmured Sam. For all the holes in his memory, Sam had always been unable to forget Beth, the one true love of Al's life. She was the reason Al had never been able to find happiness with any of the four women he'd married after losing her. "Now I can see why you'd have a soft spot for Colleen. Come to think of it, she does look like Beth." Gently he changed the subject. "So, when do I Leap?"  
  
Al let himself be distracted and squinted at the handlink. "Ziggy says that Nick -- " He cut himself off in mid-speech, glared at the link and shook it hard for about ten full seconds. "Miserable, freakin' useless slab of plastic and Christmas-tree lights! . . . " He stilled his hand, looked at the link again and suddenly grinned.  
  
"What?" Sam persisted.  
  
Al chuckled. "I knew you couldn't resist. Thanks to you and all those textbook problems you were doin', Sam, Nick passes calculus and graduates right on time." He winked . . . and Sam Beckett Leaped.  
  
THE END 


End file.
